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What Comes Next

A post-war HarrySusan slow-build. -w-

Fic: "What Comes Next" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Susan Bones, Hermione Granger (w/some bkgd Romione), & Kingsley Shacklebolt, with cameos from the Weasleys, Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Justin Finch–Fletchley, Hannah Abbot, Ernie Macmillan, & Kreacher, as well as a few others

Rating: K+

Words: ~13,060

Additional info: romance, family, hurt/comfort, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: No one told him what the world would look like without a Dark Lord in it. But Susan gets it, actually.

When the battle ends and the sun sets, Harry spends the rest of the evening with Hermione and Ron. Or, he spends as much of it as he can with the pair of them. It feels too soon and yet a lifetime later when Ron pulls away from him and Hermione to join his family in mourning Fred.

Hermione falls back with Harry, resting her head on his shoulder as they watch the Weasleys from afar. "To think—it's only been…not even a day, Harry," she realizes.

He nods. He hasn't thought on it long either. Time has felt like a fickle friend the past year, having spent most of it on the run with his best mates. "These things… It will get easier," he says vaguely, his voice sounding scratchy after the war, the skirmishes, the close calls, the losses. Harry can't bring himself to specify.

But Hermione does it for him, picking her head up and raising her eyebrows at him (he catches the look out of the corner of his eye). "Time will make it hurt less, you mean?" She hesitates, taking in a breath and then— "Has that helped you? With Cedric? With Sirius?"

Harry purses his lips. "I wonder," he thinks aloud, because he's never stopped to consider it.

And that's the crux of it all. For all Harry's been angry or somebody's hero, he's never stopped. He's never had the opportunity to stop, to take a break.

But he's just earned the longest respite in his life.

It's him and Hermione for the first few weeks at Grimmauld Place as the Weasleys are still tender in the aftermath of the war. But that's probably wise, given that Hermione comes and goes at all hours of the day, inserting herself into new business at the Ministry of Magic right away.

"You really ought to be joining me, you know," she chides him over breakfast and occasionally at supper.

Harry rolls his eyes. Having Hermione prod him like this—it's one thing that won't change, whether they dine in the Great Hall or in the Black ancestral family kitchen (and he wouldn't change a thing about it). "Why's that?"

"Because half the time when I'm proposing new legislation to Kingsley—who swears up and down that he's only going to be Minister temporarily, so please convince him otherwise, by the way—he's really only half listening, Harry. Oh, good Godric, you're only half listening, aren't you?"

"Hmm? No, no, I'm listening, Hermione, honest! Kingsley doesn't want to be Minister, you wanted the marmalade spread—"

She huffs and flares her nostrils. With a flourishing wave of her hand, she gestures to a plate free of toast and only a few bites of scrambled eggs left. "As I was saying, you should come along with me. I know you're not really cleaning around here…"

Harry frowns. "Hey! Kreacher likes taking care of Grimmauld Place."

"You need something to do, Harry. I know you told Kingsley you weren't going to jump right into the Auror Office, but at least come speak with him. It'd do me a world of good." She finishes with an imploring look. The only thing is, on Hermione, imploring just as easily reads as intimidating to Harry and Ron, who've known her the longest.

He sighs. "…all right."

"Fantastic. Then let's go."

"You meant today?!"

But Hermione means business and is in no mood to hear protests of any kind.

They take the visitors' entrance to the Ministry since Hermione isn't an official employee yet (she keeps talking of juggling Ministry work with an eighth school year, but Harry worries that's impossible even for her, with or without a Time-Turner). Once inside, the hush Harry encountered before the war greets them, when eyes fall on the pair of friends. Sometimes he thinks he'll get used to the unwanted attention. But mostly he stares forward, at a point on Hermione's shoulder, while the genius witch leads the way.

Outside the Minister's office, Percy bumps into them. He's pale as Death with eyes as red as a rabbit's, and he startles when he sees them. "Harry. Hermione," he says instead of greeting them.

Harry and Hermione screech to a halt. "Percy, hi," Harry starts. "Ah…" The usual friendliness escapes him. You don't ask someone who's lost a brother "How are you?" or "How've you been?" or anything of the like.

Percy sniffles. He gives them a brittle smile. "Good to see you," he manages. He makes to pat Harry's shoulder and reaches up partway before changing his mind and scuttling off between them.

Harry winces and exchanges a look with Hermione. "I thought none of them have been past the Ministry?"

"To my knowledge, no. Both Arthur and Percy have taken a leave of absence."

"Have you ever known or seen Percy pat someone on the shoulder?"

Hermione frowns in response.

But a better answer awaits them in Kingsley's office. The older wizard sorts through endless stacks of parchment with a grunt and happily dismisses the task when Hermione lets Harry and herself in. "Ah! Miss Granger and—ah. Mr. Potter."

Harry quirks an eyebrow. "From Auror to Minister and now you stand on formalities, Kingsley?"

Kingsley grins and laughs. "You'll have to forgive me, Harry. Learning decorum around here is one of the tasks I haven't taken to as interim Minister—"

Hermione coughs at the title. But Kingsley ignores the interruption, as if he hadn't heard or he's used to her opinion on the matter by now.

"—but people like the formality, it seems. I will endeavor to keep friends close, however," he finishes, getting up and walking around to the front of his desk. He sits on a front corner. "I was just telling Hermione the other day that we could use your face around here."

Harry frowns. Beside him, Hermione crosses her arms in front of her chest and settles Kingsley with a look. Kingsley, for what it's worth, realizes very quickly how his words sound.

He grimaces and holds up a hand. "Revered Rowena—that's not what I meant, Harry."

"Yeah, I've had my fair share of being played by people on both sides…"

"What I meant is that it'd be great to have someone around who remembers the politics but can navigate them," Kingsley corrects. His usual confident grin is small and tired. "You remember a lot of what this place was like before the war."

"I do, but I wouldn't say I navigated anything," Harry points out. He sticks his hands in his denims' pockets. "If anything, I said a million things that came close to landing me in Azkaban. And that was just for uttering a syllable in Fudge's presence."

Kingsley shrugs but nods, as if he, too, recalls a similar interaction with the disgraced former Minister. But then his dark eyes land on Harry. "…Harry, honestly? If you're not ready to be an Auror, then you could consider this as part of your Auror training."

Harry pulls a face.

"Come in and learn to comingle with other departments."

"You say that, but I'm hearing 'show your face around here,' and I'd like to know why, Kingsley."

Kingsley's demeanor shifts. He isn't hostile, but more of his exhaustion bleeds into his body language and he gestures to the door behind them. "Look, you two. I'm having a hard enough time around here, with Percy out—"

That makes Hermione loosen her arms. "Nothing's changed, though, right? Nothing else—?"

He shakes his head. "He just came in to explain about extending his leave of absence. Arthur's work will be there waiting for him in his department when he returns. But Percy? I've promoted him to Senior Undersecretary. Honestly, I think he'd be an excellent right-hand man."

Harry risks a tiny smirk. "Kingsley, you realize I'd make a terrible replacement for Percy?"

"And that's why I'm not asking you but am in talks with an old classmate of yours, a fellow eagle. No, I've got Percy's assistance covered for now, thank you." Once more, he gestures to the door. "But, out there, people work in a building, a Ministry in which they aren't confident. Few of the war's heroes come around here, if they survived."

Harry frowns again. "So…what? You want a sign of unity? A show of strength?"

Kingsley strokes his chin before shaking his head again. "…no. Honestly, I'd like for you to offer some comfort."

The Boy-Who-Won blinks. Then he blinks again. Then he gapes and turns to Hermione, whose expression mirrors his. "…comfort?" Harry clarifies.

"People like heroes. But people like you, Harry."

"Not everyone."

Kingsley chuckles and stands. "You have a way with people. Talking to them plainly. Rallying them to a cause. Simply rousting them, my friend. If you wouldn't mind interacting with them, I'd appreciate it."

Harry pulls another face and glances at Hermione. But he finds her shrugging off her earlier surprise. "You, too, Hermione?"

"Well…you never did want to lead the D.A. But it's your frankness, being yourself, that garnered support, Harry. I hate to say it, but Kingsley has a point." As if to emphasize things, Hermione sighs and walks to Kingsley's window, where she peeks between the shutters. "Morale's always shaky after a regime change," she mumbles.

Neither wizard remarks about the heft of her chosen words, but it's hard to deny them. So Harry nods. "…all right."

"Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome, Minister Shacklebolt."

Kingsley cocks his head to one side. "This isn't an order, and you can stop if you wish. Honestly," he adds the longer Harry stares at him.

"…I'll hold you to it, Kingsley. But I'll start tomorrow."

"I'll see you then."

Harry leads the way out of the Minister's office, Hermione right on his heels after pulling the door shut behind them. "You definitely had no idea? That he was going to propose that and persuade me?"

"Honest, Harry, no. I thought he was just going to bring up the Auror Office again, was all." She walks with him to the exit, all the while darting her eyes around the Ministry, taking in the sights anew. "…but it makes sense. I've ignored it, so focused on changing things. But—"

Harry finally picks his head up out in the lobby. Even the people who come and go watch him and Hermione with careful eyes, their stares lingering on him longest. Sometimes there's a familiar detail about a certain individual—the moustache on one wizard, the shaking frame of one witch. A few times, he picks out familiar faces, like Penelope Clearwater or Hestia Jones. It's only when he meets the unsurprised gaze of Susan Bones that he feels less uneasy, and he acknowledges her with a brief, polite nod.

"I'll see you at home then," Hermione says, interrupting his observations.

He blinks, and Susan's gone, another face lost in the crowd. So he returns his attention to Hermione. "Er, yeah. I'll see you then."

"As far as first days go, this…is not spectacular," Harry says, grumping beside Hermione in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the next day.

But Hermione whizzes through the files before her as though it's time to cram for exams once more, completely in her element. "I'm not sure what you expected. Kingsley spends quite a bit of time holed up in his office. He's not out and about as much as he'd like."

Harry frowns from where he stands behind Hermione's desk, and he takes it all in. Nothing can be said for the Ministry's overall décor, which is dark and dim everywhere, but at least it reads warmer here, with more mahogany and oak and birch details in the furniture and wall decorations, as if this place was decked out by former Aurors, who knew they needed something cozy after a long, Dark day. Actually, if one hung a few tapestries, Harry wonders if he wouldn't feel at home, back in Gryffindor Tower…

"…to me? Just a head's up."

Harry snaps out of his reverie. "Sorry, what?"

Hermione groans and rolls her eyes (he can tell even from behind, by the fall of her shoulders; she'll always be Up To Here™ with him and Ron, and that's a fact). The bushy-haired witch turns to face him and points with her quill. "You didn't hear a word I said. I was warning you, that—aside from shadowing me, lingering in the corridors—there will probably several events coming up."

He furrows his brow. "What do you mean, 'events'?"

"I mean those things that make you sweat small talk. Things like parties. Dances. Soirees."

He blanches. "But—" He grasps for a logical reason why he won't be attending any such awful thing. Bill and Fleur's wedding was one thing, and even that didn't go as expected. "But we've just achieved peace," Harry states rather weakly.

"That's the point. Next week will be a month, Harry."

Her voice is so light and airy in contrast with the reminder of the war that the reality hits Harry as if he'd walked straight into Hagrid. "But we've just achieved peace," he repeats dumbly.

Hermione watches him for a full minute. "Harry? Are you all right? …it's not that bad. It won't be like one of Slughorn's parties, I promise. If I don't have Ron with me and Ginny with you, then I'll stick with you. You won't face these things alone."

His shoulders sag and he glances at her. "I've written Ron a few times and Floo'd Gin once. But how are they?"

Hermione sighs. She pauses her work to run a hand through her hair. "I've been by a few times. The Burrow's a bit full again, with both Charlie and Percy home, but." She doesn't remark about Fred's absence. "…it's tough. Molly's always made me feel like one of her own, but suddenly it's hard to breathe around them, as though I'm an outsider."

He nods. He fears the same thing, which is why he hasn't inserted himself into their daily lives as of late, not to mention that one chat with Ginny… But he shakes himself free of the thought. "They need time. I don't know how much, but they just need time, Hermione."

She nods, but her eyes have this far-off look to them, and Harry doesn't need to ask. Since sharing Twelve Grimmauld Place means seeing her daily—not to mention there was that chunk of time without Ron while hunting for Horcruxes—he's come to recognize when her mind's off in Australia. He's asked her before, about getting her parents back, but she shuts the conversation down every time.

The soft click of heels on a worn floor draws Harry's attention from his and Hermione's corner of the room. "Hermione, this was the passage you were looking for—oh, sorry," Susan says, noting Hermione's absent gaze.

Harry steps forward, subtly bumping his best mate to the present while engaging Susan. "Susan, hullo. I thought it was you I saw the other morning."

"Hi, Harry." Her smile is small and soft, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She slides the parchment in hand under Hermione's nose as the brunet notices they have company. "Have you come to join the department?"

"Er, no…" He dodges the knowing look Hermione gives him and scoots away from her desk. He falls into step with Susan as she heads back to her own, smaller desk across the room. "I'm—" Harry decides to lean in to Kingsley's initial euphemism. "—getting acclimated to the Ministry air. In preparation for Auror training."

Susan nods. "That makes more sense, knowing you."

"I suppose I had 'Future Auror' tattooed across my forehead…"

She glances back at him. Her blue eyes zero in on his infamous scar and her cheeks pink as she tamps down a more genuine smile.

"Aside from what already occupied some prime real estate there," Harry quips. He reaches up to fiddle with his fringe, ensuring that, no, his scar is covered as best can be. "I didn't expect to see you in here, though."

Susan shrugs but doesn't move to sit at her desk, instead preferring to glance over her work while on her feet beside him. "I have to wonder if it's in my blood, too, you know. Ministry work. It wasn't just my aunt who worked here. There've been loads of Boneses throughout the Ministry's history, you see," she elaborated.

"Oh. I didn't know." He pauses, wondering if it'd be all right to mention that he'd liked Amelia, even though their connection was brief.

But the moment passes and Susan dismisses the tension with another, tinier shrug.

Hermione was right. He really hasn't gotten any better at small talk… But that brings to mind another question. "Have you been here long?"

She taps a finger to her lips. "Not very. I came on about a week after Hermione, looking to help out." Susan casts her eyes around with a frown. "It's calmed down a little, but it's rather chaotic around here. They can use the help." She meets Harry's eyes. "But you're not in the Auror Office. I'm not stunned to see you here, but…this seems relatively quiet for you, tagging along with Hermione."

"Ah. Well…" Harry fidgets. He doesn't want to expose Kingsley's lack of confidence in running a post-war Ministry of Magic, even to a friend and fellow Dumbledore's Army member.

"Good for you, though, Harry."

He stops fidgeting and looks at Susan with wide eyes.

But she can't hold his gaze for long. It's easier to say this next part while fiddling with the quills and pencils in her pen cup instead. "Sometimes the quiet is what's good, especially after"—she gestures vaguely—"everything."

Harry chuckles, earning him a concerned look from Susan. "Sorry, just—I've been dreading what comes after. To think it's just the quiet, that it might be good. It's a tad difficult to wrap my head around."

"Oh." Her concern melts into that old, friendly smile of hers. "You had me worried for a second. But I reckon I'll just see you around here more often?"

Had someone asked him that an hour ago, he would've told them he was quitting today, despite his agreement to try for Kingsley. But Harry finds himself returning Susan's smile. "Yeah. I'll see you around, Susan."

Susan's words stick with him over the next several days. At home, he muses on the quiet (which is relative, because Kreacher skulks about but isn't as quiet as the house-elf wishes he could be); at the office, he tries not to stick to Hermione's side, which serves the dual purpose of letting his friend carry on with her work and allowing him to roam the Ministry more.

Kingsley's got such high hopes for him, though, Harry fears. Every time he goes out and about into the halls and offices (even the lifts), he's got eyes on him. What he didn't notice before is the grimaces. But mostly Harry reads caution in the visages that pass by or leer. He would ask Hermione for her opinion, but she loses herself in perfecting a rough draft that she insists Kingsley read over before tomorrow's small commemoration ceremony.

That's why Harry asks Susan to join him for lunch and they walk together to the cafeteria. "I've not set foot outside Magical Law Enforcement or the Minister's office much because of this," he whispers to her, looking straight ahead but giving a subtle jerk of his head to the other workers who pass by them.

Susan's good at taking in the situation at a glance without giving it away. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I thought I'd noticed more people distracted around here lately, but to be the center of attention again—"

He frowns. She's right. Had anyone else said it, such as perhaps Ernie or an unusually bitter Seamus, he would've heard jealousy in those words. From Susan, it's just a statement of fact, tinged with sympathy. "It's life," he sighs.

"No, it's not." She stops him with a hand in the crook of his right elbow, turning him slightly so he can see her frown. "Harry, are you really all right with lingering around the Ministry?" Susan narrows her eyes at him, as though she can see through to the truth of Kingsley's demand.

"I've dealt with worse," he reminds her. "But it'll get better, I'm sure."

Susan gives him a sympathetic smile and shakes her head. "'Dealt with worse,' Harry Potter says. As if we didn't just go through the same seven…well, ish years of school together," she pokes, heading for the cauldrons of stew.

He hears the teasing lilt in her tone. "I'm just being optimistic, Susan…!"

She grins.

They grab their meals and find a table for two. Having talked about it, it's difficult to ignore the stares of others in the cafeteria, but Harry does his best to focus on Susan. "So, tomorrow," he prefaces.

Her grin from earlier dims. She prods her bowl of stew with her spoon. "It's going to be a rough day. At least it's just the ceremony and a day off."

Harry nods.

"Are they making you speak?"

Oh, no. "That never occurred to me," Harry says. "So I never asked… Padma's quite efficient, organizing something like this at the last possible second; she's been a great help with Percy still out. But neither she nor Kingsley mentioned that I would have to…" Suddenly his cup of soup and sandwich smell sour. "It's one thing when adrenaline's pushing you through. But all those times before—I mean, even back in fifth year, at the Hog's Head."

"The D.A. interest meeting. I remember."

"I had no speech prepared. Hermione was so instrumental then."

"True, but you still had the history even if you lacked the words." Susan knocks her knuckles with his. "And Hermione wasn't the one running the D.A. meetings afterwards. Not her or Ron, but you, Harry."

"But—that was winging it."

Her sympathetic smile returns. "Isn't that sort of your style?"

Harry pushes his food away and runs a hand over the back of his head. "…give me a Death Eater, and I know what to do. But public speaking or school work, and I'm flummoxed."

"You'll get through tomorrow, Harry," she assures him, pushing a lock of red hair behind her ear and finding her appetite again.

"How do you know?"

"Because you've dealt with worse."

His camaraderie with her melts some of the tension in his shoulders. Suddenly tomorrow doesn't seem like such a big hurdle, just the next day.

…then tomorrow arrives and Harry muses that he spoke too soon.

He and Hermione arrive at the Ministry midmorning since the Weasleys are coming as a family. They funnel into the largest courtroom floors below, because this was the best place to transform into a reception hall for the ceremony.

At first, Harry flinches, as does Hermione, because neither of them has been into the bellows of the Ministry for a long while. But he freezes when he sees the rotating, floating display in the center of the room.

Crystal globes in assorted colors (not merely House colors) swirl gently in the air in silence. On each globe is captured the countenance of the fallen. The magic keeping them in motion shimmers as the globes revolve and face out at everyone in the room.

But, for Harry, the display is an unpleasant reminder of the Battle in the Department of Mysteries. All of the prophecies lost…and the one that cost him someone very dear… He nearly walks out, seeing the display.

"Padma wouldn't've known," Hermione whispers to him, bringing him back to his senses.

He nods. Of course not. Only he, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville would, as well as surviving members of the Order there that night…which, he thinks grimly, primarily leaves him and his friends with this unwelcome flashback.

Though they came separately, the Weasleys have Hermione and Harry sit with them. Hermione tucks herself in between Ron and Harry, but she rests against Ron's left arm and holds Harry's hand, as if making up for lost time with her boys.

Much of the D.A. shows up, interspersed throughout the crowd. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina sit a few rows below Harry and company. Across the way, he spies Michael and Terry, the only eagles remaining in their year along with Padma. Dean and Neville sit with the Hufflepuffs by the exit. Harry's not surprised by Seamus' or Parvati's absence, since Lavender is still touch-and-go in St. Mungo's right now.

Not unlike having Hermione between him and Ron, Susan and Neville have a pale Hannah propped up between them. Susan brushes back a loose strand of hair away from her friend's face before she picks her own head up and scans the room. Her blue eyes stop on Harry, and she nods to him. Her words go through his head once more: "Because you've dealt with worse."

He nods back, taking some comfort from her encouragement. Then Kingsley walks into the center of the room, shooed there by Padma.

Kingsley clears his voice before pointing his wand to his throat, nonverbally casting the Sonorus Spell. "Welcome, friends," the Minister says, his voice filling every space in the converted courtroom.

Not a single person moves or so much as coughs.

"Today we mark a month since our world changed," Kingsley continues. He pauses, as though the heaviness of his prepared speech hits him in this moment. "For better, for worse. Our world as a whole. Our own private worlds… Much changed in a day."

Harry catches Susan's eye again. Her concern is evident: If Kingsley continues down this road in opening this morning, then Harry undoubtedly will be invited to share some uplifting words. The thing is, he hasn't got any, especially not after seeing the crystal globes.

"But a day is just that," Kingsley adds after an odd beat. "And we have seen the days after that, the weeks. We have made it a month now, friends. We are slowly rebuilding. We rebuild, but we do not forget." He waves to the displayed globes, which come out of column formation to float more loosely around the room so each face and name can be seen. "We remember, but we press on. Because it is only in living on that their memories will stay alive with us."

Someone in the back of the room coughs at the cheesy line closing his speech. But Kingsley lowers his wand and doesn't budge in spite of the awkward moment. A second later, off on the sidelines, Padma starts clapping, but the sound is so soft and doesn't echo much in the room, so Harry joins in, and then Susan, and the rest of the D.A. follows suit. It catches on, a polite reception for a man trying his best at a job he quite despises, and Kingsley respectfully tips his head before stepping away, letting people take everything in on their own.

Harry exhales a sigh of relief. He does his best to ignore the globes—he's not ready to look yet—but he looks his friends over. "Hermione?" he whispers.

She gives him a wet smile and releases his hand. "I think I'll stay put for a bit."

As if voicing his opinion, Ron adjusts his cheek atop her head. Harry reaches around Hermione to give Ron's shoulder a squeeze. They lock eyes and it's the first time in a while that Ron's looked so alive.

Harry gets to his feet. His legs protest as if they've been sitting here far longer than they realized, but it feels good to descend the rows and see others. The usual feeling of having eyes on him doesn't weigh so heavily today; several times he returns the stares, finding a familiar, friendly face waiting for him.

He means to find Kingsley and congratulate him—that wasn't bad for his first, small commemoration—but Harry's eyes are drawn to the badgers. Susan's not with them any longer, Justin having taken her seat.

Ah, well. She had brought up the fact that today would be a day off from work, after the ceremony. Harry muses that he hasn't exactly taken a day off from anything in a while, despite the few weeks in May being quieter than normal. But even those were filled with support and waiting and writing and talking, all because of—

"Oh, Harry," Kingsley says, meeting him near the exit. His dark eyes are bright, his grin too tight. So stunning to see a battle-hardened man like Kingsley Shacklebolt nervous. "Good to see you. Apologies I haven't been as available to you as I might've suggested I'd be."

Seeing him anxious the way Harry felt leading up to today relaxes Harry, lets him know that this position won't go to Kingsley's head. "It's all right, Kingsley. You did well, by the way."

"Short and sweet, as suggested," Padma chimes in, appearing at Kingsley's side. She crosses something off on a clipboard and glances at Harry. "I'm glad you could make it, Harry. But, Minister, we have a few remaining tasks this afternoon, if you're done here."

Kingsley sighs. "Yes, Miss Patil… Here's hoping this interim business doesn't persist," he mumbles to Harry before following Padma out of the hall. Of course, he says that, but there's extra pep in his step after Harry's and Padma's compliments on the job well done.

Someone taps Harry's shoulder, and he turns to find Susan behind him. "You lucked out," she says, that soft smile of hers gently tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Harry chuckles. He motions to the nearest row of seats so they don't end up underfoot for those leaving early. "I did," he agrees after they sit. "Kingsley will get better with practice or perhaps he'll channel his inner Dumbledore. Whichever the occasion calls for."

Susan stifles a giggle, especially when the sound catches the disapproving eye of an elderly couple. "Oh, dear. This really is a terrible place to chat."

"I've—"

"—dealt with worse," Susan says along with him. Her eyes crinkle with amusement when Harry huffs at being predictable.

"Are you going home after this?"

The question catches her by surprise. "Well…sort of. I'm going out with Hannah and the rest for a bite." Susan's shoulders sag and she darts her eyes across the room to where Harry sat earlier. "What about your lot?"

"Not sure. Hermione and I are there for them as needed, sort of on call, but." Harry removes his glasses and pinches the tension in the bridge of his nose. "It's not easy."

"Being relied on when you're mourning, too?" She nods.

He replaces his glasses, catching the ghost of her pout in the process. "…see you tomorrow, then, Susan?"

Her smaller smile returns. "Of course, Harry."

He nods, but, the funny thing is, neither of them makes to leave. They just sit awhile, together, glimpsing the crowd and peeking at the crystal globes that drift past their heads.

It's easier, Harry realizes, accepting the reality of a post-war world sitting beside someone like Susan.

And he wonders why that is.

"Susan, I'm off to Level Five—want to come with?" Harry asks her later in the week.

Susan smiles before tearing her eyes away from the form she's busy stamping and checking for errors. "The Department of International Magical Cooperation? What takes you there, Harry?"

He pauses, the truth making him feel a touch silly. But he holds up a scroll. "…actually, running an errand for Hermione."

She giggles but stops when he pouts. "Sorry, just. That fits." She stands and grabs a stack of files after sending an interdepartmental memo flying off on its own with a flick of her wand. "I just wonder if you're not looking for excuses to poke your head into each and every department."

"Well, I'm a little curious about the countless offices that run this place," he supplies, still careful not to show Kingsley's cards.

Susan hums to herself on their way to the lifts and gives him a long appraisal from the corner of her eye. "Harry, do you explore the Ministry much without me or Hermione by your side?"

He blinks in surprise. He opens his mouth and splutters, but that's not really an answer.

Her smile is soft but a bit hurt, too, as Susan furrows her brow. "I only ask because. Today, Level Five. Yesterday, Level Three. The day before, Level Four, to two different divisions." She clutches her files to her chest and stares at the lift gate as they wait. "One would wonder if you prefer a buffer, precisely because you're at the Ministry, where you feel uncomfortable."

Harry closes his mouth, a guilty lump forming in his throat. He's always known Susan to be a kind person, a good person, and he can't fault her for politely calling him out on his actions, even if he'd been doing this subconsciously.

Susan nods, mostly to herself, and then the lift arrives. They wait half a beat for the carriage to empty and then step in. Susan musters another smile for Harry, as if proving she won't let it bother her much.

But then other workers enter the lift, too, crowding them and shoving Harry into the corner and into Susan. He puts an arm out on the wall, bracing both of them. "Sorry," he rushes.

Susan's cheeks pink and she shakes her head, accessing the situation and dismissing it in one motion.

Still, being squished back here gives Harry the time to dwell on her difficult question. True, Kingsley asked him here. And, true, he's gone around with Hermione a few times. But mostly he's joined Susan for lunch or on a walk to stretch their legs or simply asked her to join him. Susan's great to haunt the Ministry with, really. He can talk easily with her about school memories and the difficulties of having little to no family in the same breath, without weighing their moods down. Susan didn't fight Voldemort herself, but there's so much overlap of her life with Harry's that it's easy to talk about anything and everything, plain and simple. And that's without being the Chosen One or the Boy-Who-Won or Harry Potter. That's just being Harry. They're Harry and Susan, plain and simple.

When the lift dings a heartbeat later and the flow of bodies spills from the carriage, Susan stumbles and nearly drops her thick stack. But Harry's still got his arm in front of her, so he catches both her and her work. "Oh! Thank you, Harry."

He nods and runs a nervous hand over the back of his head as they make for the International Magical Office of Law. He waits until the pink fades from her face, hoping she's comfortable around him once more before he starts, "You're probably not wrong."

Her blue eyes flicker to him. "Sorry?"

"About the buffer thing. I hadn't even realized—and I'm sorry about that."

Her eyebrows rise into her fringe, but she gives him a curt, single nod. "Well, thank you for that, Harry. I hope you know it wasn't my intent to be so harsh."

He chuckles. Is it a Hufflepuff thing or a Susan Bones thing to be this nice? "No, you're all right. But also—you're not entirely correct."

Susan slows her steps, allowing Harry to catch up with her quick pace. "Oh?"

Harry nods once more with growing confidence as they walk together, falling into step with her. "The only one I keep asking to join me is you. I enjoy your company, Susan."

"Oh," she repeats, and the pink creeps back into her cheeks. But it's not as alarming this time, because her blue eyes glitter like the Bluebell flames lighting some of the sconces on this floor.

Harry smiles, at ease seeing Susan's reaction.

It will only hit him later, when recounting this exchange to Hermione over supper, that he inadvertently pointed out he's been asking Susan out all this time. (Or, rather, Hermione will hit him, with her napkin, and call him daft and groan before abandoning her plate for the work she brings home that evening.)

Tap-tap-tap, scritch-scratch.

"Harry, were you planning on getting that?" Hermione asks him that Sunday.

Harry picks his head up from the telly he's still trying to set up in the sitting room. Honestly, there's got to be some trick to getting Muggle technology working in the Black house… "Get what? Did I drop something?" He searches the carpet and doesn't count extra pieces past what he's supposed to have lying around…he thinks. "I reckon it was just Kreacher."

As if summoned, Kreacher snorts from the doorway and shuffles on. "Filthy gadgets… Mudblood mischief, Kreacher says…"

Harry rolls his eyes and looks up at Hermione in her chair. "I can order him to swear off all the nastiness forever, you know."

But she shakes her head. "Don't bother. It's in his nature to stick to his ways, Harry, and ordering him around is wrong. I thought he'd improved with you after the incident with Regulus' locket, but." She stops there. "Anyway, I meant the post. Sounded like an owl tapping at a window on one of the upper floors."

He rocks back on his haunches, rolling to his feet. "I'm not expecting anything."

Hermione shrugs, but she's curious, too, and watches him dart upstairs. Likely she has the same redheaded family on her mind as does he as Harry goes to check the post.

None of the Weasley family owls greets him where he locates the noise, at a third-floor window. Harry finds a black owl whose feathers are speckled with brown and gray, and its amber eyes follow him tiredly until he conjures up a treat. The owl cheerily chomps down, allowing Harry to remove the little scroll attached to its right leg. Harry unfurls the missive and reads it twice on his way back to Hermione.

"And?" she prompts when he returns to the sitting room.

"It's something for me," he answers, tucking it into his back pocket. He sits back in front of the telly and picks up a small screw from the back panel.

But Hermione nicks the letter and holds it out of reach, not reading it but staring Harry down. "Is it something of consequence, Harry?" She narrows her dark eyes.

"…it's an invitation, Hermione."

Her eyes widen, and she flips the envelope over to check the return address. Her mouth forms a small "o." "When you said 'invitation,' I thought perhaps my suspicions about Ministry events had been confirmed…" She passes it back to him, although now she smiles encouragingly. "Though I suppose it wouldn't be unreasonable to describe this as Ministry-adjacent," she gently teases.

Harry settles her with a dirty look. "Just because I bumped into Susan at the Ministry—" He sighs and collects the remnants of the Muggle device in front of him. "It's just lunch with her and the other Hufflepuffs."

"Well, no one's accepted Smith back into their circles, last I knew, so you won't have to deal with him. And you always got along with Justin. Hannah and Ernie were solid by the time the D.A. came to fruition." Hermione ticks off on her fingers, quietly folding down three for Megan, Leanne, and Oliver, who were amongst the fallen over a month ago. "…you'll have to ask Susan about Eloise and Wayne, though. Eloise was a sweet girl, but boys were never very nice to her," she finishes with a puckered face.

Harry sighs, giving up on the telly. "Is this your subtle way of telling me to let you handle this and just leave already, Hermione?"

Hermione pats him on the shoulder and waves her wand, levitating the strewn mechanical parts to a cloth on her lap. "It's best to be early. Witches love punctuality, you know."

Harry rolls his eyes for the second time that late morning. "Am I bringing anything back for you?"

"Surprise me within reason, thanks." And then she buries her nose in the manual for the set. Before Harry's left the sitting room, most of the telly's back in one piece, and he wouldn't be surprised if they're able to watch Muggle broadcasts by the time he's home, thanks to that brilliance of hers.

He washes up and changes shirts—no matter what they do, there seems to be a permanent stuffiness to Grimmauld Place they can't Scourgify for the hell of it—before grabbing a cloak and leaving. Out on the steps of Twelve Grimmauld Place, he pulls Susan's missive and reads it once more:

Hi, Harry—

So sorry you and I didn't go anywhere before… But the cete's getting together for lunch today at half past noon. It's at a Muggle pub, in London. If you want to join us, meet me outside the Leaky Cauldron a bit before then.

It's all right if not. You and I can make plans for another day.

Sincerely,

Susan

He doesn't linger on the mystery of "cete" (must be a Hufflepuff thing), because he keeps rereading her last sentence, which makes his stomach do a happy little flop. Funny how often Susan has him hoping these days.

He Disapparates to Diagon Alley, though he does so on high alert. Even with the war behind them and the Ministry using Aurors and Hit Wizards to monitor the Wizarding mecca, Diagon Alley and its side streets have yet to bounce back as spryly as other locations. Hogwarts took the most damage, but there's a pervasive rot around this shopping center that was allowed to seep out the last couple years, and it's not so easily swept back under the cobblestones. It's that rot that hastens Harry to the pub and past Tom the barman's friendly wave and through the Leaky Cauldron's door nearly twenty minutes early.

And he crashes into Susan just outside the door.

With an "oof!" Susan stumbles, her red plait swinging behind her. But she has enough footing to stay upright and catch Harry this time. She grins when they keep standing. "Reckon I had to return the favor somehow," she quips.

They laugh as Harry adjusts his tilted glasses. "I got your owl," he says.

"I can guess."

"But aren't we both horribly early?"

Susan checks her watch. "Somewhat. But Justin's footing the cheque today, and he likes to arrive as early as possible, so we're quite on time, really." She tugs on his arm. "It's not a long walk. You'll see."

Harry obliges, letting her lead the way and in no hurry to pull his arm free from her light hold. Although his curiosity regarding one thing does win out. "I have to ask, though: What's a 'cete'?"

She laughs. "Not like 'seat,' like 'set.' It's a collection of badgers. You never wondered about the collective noun for your House animal?"

"Never stopped to think about it…although, I confess to having spent far too much time dealing with various dens of snakes," he darkly remarks.

Susan gives his arm a squeeze, not letting him linger in those thoughts, not today. "Well, you're in good company today, Harry."

They lapse into a comfortable silence the last couple of minutes to the pub. Susan hadn't exaggerated, saying it's close. At their brisk pace, she and Harry cover just over a block in about five minutes, then they cross after a few yards at the next. At first, Harry misses the restaurant altogether, because the shiny, dark façade blends in with the other storefronts on the street and the pub sign isn't prominent. In fact, Harry misses the name when he and Susan enter, but he becomes distracted by the interior.

If there had been a sign outside reading "The Hog's Head," Harry might believe it. Given the layout, Harry does a double-take and half expects to find Aberforth behind the counter…but, no, this place is cleaner, newer, and lacks nods to Hogsmeade with its Muggle décor. But the coziness still draws him, and Harry smiles when they spy their friends at one of the larger booths in the back.

"You lot come here often?" Harry quietly asks Susan before they reach the others.

"Yeah, actually. There's something about it, don't you think?"

He chuckles to himself. To think that Dumbledore's Army is still linked in certain ways…

Justin chokes on his drink when he catches sight of Susan's shadow. But he beams at Harry while the pair hangs their cloaks up. "Harry! Good to see you. Welcome to Brunch with the Badgers."

"Stop calling it that, Justin," Ernie huffs from across the round table. "We're not giving Sundays an official name, least of all one as ridiculous as that." Ernie glances at Harry and politely nods before patting the open spot beside him. "Regardless, welcome aboard, Harry."

"I, uh—thanks." Harry slides in, sandwiched between Ernie and Susan on the end. He raises his eyebrows at Neville across the way, settled between Justin and Hannah, and understanding passes between the lion friends.

"You get used to them," Neville assures Harry with a gentle smile and chuckle, which earns him a "HEY!" from Justin.

But Harry laughs, too. Even having Susan beside him, it still feels good having another, much more familiar face at this table.

"We ordered drinks but waited on the rest until you showed," Justin says, though that's primarily directed at Susan. He sticks out two fingers to flag down wait staff. Then he beams at Harry again. "Oh, feel free to order what you like, Harry. Today's on me."

"That's kind of you, thanks." He fidgets. "Is there a special occasion?"

"Hmm, today? Not really. We tend to take turns, but it's my preference, really. Although," he says with an emphatic twist of his head in Hannah's direction which makes that curled lock of hair in front of his face bounce, "someone will be turning eighteen later this week and refuses to let us throw her a party…"

Hannah rolls her eyes and leans against Ernie on her left. "And I've told you a million times already, Justin. I'm simply not interested in one! Da said he wants just him and me to do something that day anyway."

Ernie shakes his head at Justin. "See? Can't win against family, Jus. So let this one go already, mate."

Justin pouts but nods. With him easing up, Hannah heaves an audible sigh of relief and sits a bit straighter, closer to Neville once more. Justin eventually perks up, too, when the waiter finally comes over and takes their orders.

"Hard to think any of us are eighteen or going to be," Neville thinks aloud once the waiter disappears.

Harry runs his hand over the back of his head. "You and I still have a bit of a wait, Neville."

"True. But I'm thinking planning an eighth year might help me pass the time a bit faster."

Harry's mouth falls open. He knows Hermione wants an eighth year, but he hasn't considered who else in their year might return to school. "No joke?"

Neville shakes his head. "I figure, if I want to teach Herbology someday, it couldn't hurt."

Harry looks at the Hufflepuffs in turn. "What about the rest of you? Eighth year?"

Ernie takes a long swig of his beer and shakes his head. "Not for me. I'm…thinking of travelling."

There's some surprise around the table, with a little gasp from Susan and raised eyebrows from Justin. But Hannah gawks at him. "You are?"

"There's too much history here, Hannah. I need a change of pace." Ernie answers her, but he does so while looking into his glass. It's a brief exchange and reads as something private that none of them are supposed to witness.

Perhaps Justin picks up on that, because he jumps right in. "I want to teach, too." He bumps his shoulder with Neville's, drawing most of the table's attention on the pair of them. "So it'll be you and me then, Neville. Although you can keep your Herbology. Muggle Studies sounds right for me."

Neville smiles warmly. "That'd be great." Neville raises his eyebrows at Susan.

"Oh, no, I'm good. No teaching or eighth year for me." She steals a peek at Harry, who already knows this part. "The Ministry's probably right for me."

Harry tamps down his smile. He doesn't know how long he'll be doing his favor for Kingsley or if the Ministry really is his future—but he likes to imagine these days spent with Susan, and that's not a bad plan. He tries to keep his focus on the group, though, since he was so warmly welcomed. "So, Hannah? What about you?"

But it's terrible timing. Hannah distractedly tears her eyes from her best mate, who still finds his drink utterly fascinating, and seems to realize that Harry is, in fact, still with them. "Hmm? What? Oh. Me? No. No plans." She frowns, aiming it Ernie's way, and that's that.

Harry winces and frowns in apology to Neville and Justin before glancing at Susan. Each of them is concerned at the sudden shift in mood at the table, but they're all at a loss of how to handle it.

It doesn't get much better when the food arrives. The food's delicious, and Harry makes a note to order the same pot pie for Hermione because he's glad for her encouragement and she deserves something nice, and Justin does his best to up the table's spirits with tales of his family's antics while the Finch–Fletchleys were on the run and in hiding from the Muggle-born Registration Commission last year ("You'd swear my mum thought we'd have to go without running water, forgetting half the time that, yes, she's a Muggle with a wizard son"). But it's doesn't erase the awkwardness that comes from Hannah and Ernie abstaining from chatter, and Susan tugs Harry out of the booth the minute both of them finish their meals.

"Won't they think that was rude?" Harry frets outside the pub.

Susan shakes her head. "No. So long as you don't interrupt Justin in the middle of a story, you can come and go as you please, though I am sorry to leave Neville in the middle of that mess." She frowns and throws a look over her shoulder at the door.

But Harry rubs her arm. "Neville and Hannah became close last year, right?"

She nods.

"Then he'll be all right. As for Hannah and Ernie…" He squints and stares at the door for a beat with her. "I can't begin to unravel something so obviously bad it was apparent even to me."

Susan gives him a thankful smile. Then they turn and meander up the street, in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. "Sorry, by the way," she says after a moment.

Harry tilts his head her way. "For what?"

"Well, for cutting lunch short."

"I'm lucky the waiter brought Hermione's takeaway while I was still eating." He pats his Expanded pocket. "But it's all right, Susan."

"It's not the first time they've brought up post-Hogwarts plans, you know."

Harry doesn't comment. Susan pauses, but it's not a pause to be filled with their back-and-forth. So he waits.

"I'm…also sorry for poking at you over needing a buffer or not at the Ministry." She chuckles, but it's a hollow sound. "Justin and Neville bring up their grand plans to teach so easily. And me? I say 'Ministry' as if it's a plan. But…I'm using the Ministry as a crutch. Given my family's history, it feels as though I'm duty-bound to that place, and I think I took that out on you some." It's quite the apology and a revelation, though it's wrapped up in hesitancy, as if Susan's not painting the entire picture.

So Harry shakes his head and encourages her, "Go for it."

Susan quirks an eyebrow.

"I understand the burden of legacy, Susan; if you need to vent or lash out any, then why not to someone who empathizes?"

She smiles, soft, slow, content. She doesn't answer him nor take him up on the offer right then and there. It's as if Susan only needed those words. So, instead, she leans on his shoulder as they walk, down the street, past the Leaky Cauldron, spending the rest of their afternoon in Muggle London this way.

Together.

June wears on rather much like their walk that day. Harry doesn't think he'd change much about it, really. He stops pestering Hermione altogether at the Ministry, leaving her be to do the things she does best, and that frees up more of his time to spend with Susan. It doesn't, of course, mean he bothers Susan all the time, since she actually works there, but Harry does catch Kingsley in passing a few times, and the black wizard raises a handsome eyebrow at how dutifully Harry approaches several of the departments. But Harry pointedly ignores Kingsley's curiosity, because he doesn't feel ready to jump into the Auror Office, not yet.

Sunday lunch with the Hufflepuffs becomes a regular thing, too, although the first Sunday after he and Susan cut out early is a bit stiff with Hannah and Neville's notable absence. No one says anything at lunch, though Susan confides in Harry afterwards that she's concerned about a possibly larger fight than expected between Hannah and Ernie. As if confirming Susan's speculation, the next lunch sees Hannah and Neville back, but Ernie's gone, left to travel already. Still the others say nothing, but it gets easier with each passing week, as if only these five—Susan and Harry, Hannah and Neville, and Justin—had ever arranged to meet to start.

His summer is filled with Susan, old friends, the Ministry. But there's still one niggling item on Harry's mind, in Harry's heart, that he wishes to address before he even begins to consider what awaits him when the summer ends.

And, for that, he and Hermione in July pay their first visit to the Burrow in…good Merlin. Half a year? No, longer.

It strikes him hard, how much he misses the familiar, lopsided home in Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione's only been once or so, because the Weasleys have asked everyone for time and space, but arriving at a small hilltop nearby and spying the Weasley home from a distance makes the pain of not seeing them come rushing forward, best as Harry and Hermione have done to set it aside. Harry literally stops in his steps and grimaces.

Hermione stops two steps ahead of him and turns back. "Harry?"

He spent so much time here that it came to feel like home… But Harry shakes his head and catches up with her. "Sorry. I'm good."

Hermione eyes him while they walk. "I feel the same as you, you know."

Harry feels the familiar burn of irritation, because it's not quite anger, roiling in his chest. "No, you don't," he supplies. They love these people; they're like family. But, at the end of the day, Hermione has her parents to go home to—or to go out and find, whenever she decides to put that on her to-do list.

Perhaps she knows she's overstepped. Her cheeks flush and she settles him with a severe look, caught with her foot in her mouth. But Hermione takes three breaths and reaches for his hand, both as an apology and as a comfort.

It does the trick. Ages ago, it wouldn't've, but Harry figures he's learned by now which arguments are worth having.

The closer they get to the Burrow, the louder the noises turn. It's not just the animals the family keeps, either. There's a genuine din in the back, and Harry and Hermione exchange a look of surprise before entering the home.

"Ah! Perfect timing, Harry, Hermione!" Molly says, her hands full of trays of food and another levitating behind her. She puts the ones in her hands down, flicks her wand, and sends everything gliding out the back before she throws her arms open wide. "Well? No dawdling!"

Harry can't help but grin and dive into her arms. Molly Weasley has the strength to crush him against her without magic, honest, and he doesn't mind one bit. "It's so good to see you," he says while Hermione has her hug next.

Molly's smile is as big as ever, but there's a constant dampness to her eyes that she blinks away. "Good to see you and have you back around here, Harry, Hermione." She ruffles his hair and pats Hermione's cheek. "We really should've had you back ages ago, but—"

Hermione shakes her head. "No, it's all right."

Molly nods, happy not to explain. Then she puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head behind her. "But I really did mean you have perfect timing. Hermione—still hate flying, dear?"

Hermione turns a pale shade of green. "I Apparate if I can."

"No worries. Well, I think they're still short several players, but you can make it a little more even, Harry."

Harry doesn't even ask. They follow Molly and the extra food out into the wide backyard and find a rather lively party taking place: Streamers float through the air along with the food, someone keeps setting off little fireworks, and… "There are more people here than I thought," Harry blurts.

Arthur chats with Xenophilius by the drinks. Luna lifts her Spectrespecs up and waves lazily at Harry and Hermione from where she sits atop an old milk crate by the shed. Up in the air, George, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie beckon to Percy, trying to coax him onto his broom, while Charlie goads his younger brother from the ground. Ignoring the teasing are Bill and Fleur, eating together at one of the few tables set up, and Ginny and Demelza, also up in the air on their brooms but tossing a Quaffle back and forth. The missing face appears around his mother with a comfortable grin on his freckled face, as if he's ready to rescue Harry and Hermione from certain danger just like all these past years. "Pictured us still wallowing, did you?" Ron asks, straight to the point, the moment Molly leaves to join Arthur.

Hermione, sickly green a moment ago, reddens. "Absolutely not, Ronald!" She fusses with her hair while she and Harry take in the sights. "But—what then—?"

"Ah, just a little sendoff for Charlie." Ron sips his butterbeer and looks between his best mates. "Charlie's heading back to Romania tonight. It was something good to celebrate." He glances back at his father. "I think it's given Dad and Perce the kick in the pants to head back to work, too. Bill's been doing limited work, but Fleur got him back in fulltime last week. And George…" He shrugs. "Well, I offered to help George reopen the shop, if he decides that's what he wants to do."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "That's…"

"Generous, I know." Ron ducks his eyes.

"I meant you dumped a lot on us in one breath." Harry grins at the glare he receives from the other wizard. "But I'm glad to hear you lot have plans." He doesn't wait to draw Ron into a brief hug.

Ron claps him on the back. "Yeah, this summer… It's been a mess, mate." He twists his mouth around as the three of them look out at the gathering. "I've always heard that being around people and talking about loss is supposed to do the trick. But that's not always the case, is it? Sometimes…" He sighs. "Just us Weasleys, being together, hurting. It felt like the right thing to do."

Harry and Hermione don't have to exchange a look this time. Him on Ron's right, her on Ron's left, they stand together, not touching but close enough. Some things don't have to be expressed between friends, certainly not after everything they've been through.

"OH! Hey, Harry's here!" George calls out. Several heads turn their way. "And Hermione, too! Well, hello, Hermione, but really we need a Seeker if we're going to muster up a round of Quidditch!"

"No team with Harry gets Charlie, though—equal division of Seekers," Angelina warns as Charlie lights up at the possibility of playing on the same team. Alicia and Katie cheer Angelina's declaration.

"If Harry's here, then you don't need me anymore," Percy insists. "So just—"

"It's a numbers game, Perce," George interrupts. "So get on the broom already!"

Harry stares at Ron over the rims of his glasses. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the girls arrived," Ron says with a gesture to their elder Chaser trio. "And, no, not a lick of Quidditch has transpired yet."

"They do realize Ginny's a hell of a Seeker, right?"

"They do, but Ginny's not been very interested in a full match. She and Robins have mostly kept to themselves or hung out with Luna." Ron pauses, his brow furrowing. "That's right. You and Ginny…"

Harry clears his throat then, keeping Ron from finishing his thought. "I'll go say 'hi' and see if we can't have at least one game before Charlie leaves." He walks away from his best mates before they can offer their opinions.

Ginny and Demelza hover high up on their brooms above the trees a bit away from the party. When Harry approaches them, Ginny throws the Quaffle to Demelza, but Demelza keeps it, her brown plait swinging behind her as she smiles at Harry in greeting. She tips her head to him and pulls up on her broomstick, flying back to the others. Doing so leaves Ginny and Harry alone.

Harry shields his eyes from the midday sun. Ginny makes no move to descend, so Harry sighs to himself and pulls his broom from his Expanded denims pocket (thank Merlin for Hermione and her love of Expansion Charms). He mounts it and shoots up to Ginny's level but doesn't draw too near.

But Ginny acknowledges him. "Hey, Harry."

"Hi, Ginny." He stares at his broom handle for a second. Then a topic occurs to him and he tilts his head behind him, where Demelza flew off. "Nice to see Demelza again. You and she returning for—?"

"For seventh year? Mum wouldn't have it any other way." She frowns at the harshness of her own words. "But, yeah, we and Luna will be back in school in less than two months now."

Harry nods. "You'll captain Gryffindor's team, won't you?"

Ginny blinks, as though this never occurred to her. "…do you think they'll have Quidditch again, the first year back?"

He shrugs. "Perhaps." When he sees her hesitate, he continues, "Well, either you or Demelza would make a great choice."

That earns him a Ginny Weasley smirk. "Demi's fab at a bunch of positions…but, if anyone's going to captain, it's me." She laughs and glances at the party. "I bet Charlie would love that."

"He'd probably find some reason to leave Romania and watch your matches."

She laughs again. "You're not wrong…!" She calms and swipes at her eyes. Harry realizes she holds his gaze, stops avoiding him. "Harry, how are you? Good?"

He nods. "I'm good, Gin. You?"

Ginny bites her lower lip and drifts closer to him. There's a sorry pinch between her brows. "You know I'm not talking about Fred and the others right now, right?"

Harry does. "Yeah, Gin, I know."

She frowns. "Sometimes I wonder about why we broke up, why I asked you not to wait for me. I think—was I being impulsive again? Was I just not thinking?" Ginny sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "But…being focused on Fred's absence and my family and my grief…it's given me time to think."

He knew. He knows. He vividly recalls their Floo call when she broke up with him.

"But—and, good Godric, I sound like such an arse saying this, Harry—but I don't disagree with what I said back in May?" She musters a smile despite the tears in her eyes, and she laughs at them when she wipes them away. "I thought I acted too quick, calling it quits when I lost my brother, but I've had time to focus on the past year. And all I can think is that I wasn't ready for romance yet."

Harry frowns but nods.

"I mean, you just asked me a simple thing about being Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and I didn't even have an immediate answer for that because I hadn't been thinking about it properly at all." She exhales and looks out not at the party or the Burrow but at the land all around them. "Sometimes I wonder what else I haven't thought about. What else I never stopped to experience."

"I can commiserate," he says, sensing it all right to chime in.

Ginny's brown eyes meet his green, and she smirks at him. "Really talented at making it up as we go, aren't we, Potter?"

"Winging it can take you far, Weasley," he teases.

They laugh together, hard and loud enough to draw some of the others' attention. But it's easy to dismiss their curiosity and outright rude questions ("So are you two happening again?" George inquires with all the delicacy of a troll waltzing into the Yule Ball) and play a modified six-on-six game of Quidditch, because Harry and Ginny are good. They stay broken up, but they're still good friends who've been to hell and back, and that counts for a hell of a lot.

For a post-war world, things nearly seem all right again. Then the notices go up around the Ministry a week before his birthday, plastered on the wall here and there:

Three Months! An Evening at the Ministry to Consider Our New State of Peace and Patrolling Our Hard-Won Future. Join Us, August 2nd, in…

Harry practically races to Hermione's desk that morning on his way back from visiting Arthur. "Didyouseeit," he blurts on his last breath.

Hermione quirks an eyebrow at him while Harry collects himself. "If you mean, did I see that my prediction came true, then yes." She goes back to sifting through parchment.

"Hermione!"

She huffs at him. "Harry, what is the trouble here, really?"

He straightens up and sheds his cloak, draping it over a free corner of her desk in spite of her pout. Running here or the realization has stifled him. "I thought that perhaps that nonsense wouldn't occur, with Percy back."

The thought gives her pause. "Hmm. Well, in another reality, I'd say Percy would think of such a thing as an unnecessary frivolity when the Minister has better things to do—"

"Right! So—"

"—but Kingsley's kept Padma on along with Percy, Harry." She shrugs his discomfort off. "Padma's been a huge help the last several months, and she told me recently that she's thinking of taking the post fulltime, if he'll have her. Though she has to make up her mind soon. She's another debating an eighth year," Hermione elaborates at Harry's puzzled stare.

His shoulders sink. "Great. I mean, truly great for Padma. But…" Harry shakes his head. "'Parties. Dances. Soirees.'" He grimaces at Hermione, who has the humility to redden when she hears him quote her.

But Hermione waves him off with her quill. "I don't see why you'd be as scared as before. Aren't things a little different now?"

Harry doesn't answer.

"Susan," Hermione hisses under her breath, glancing around him at the desk across the room. Hermione looks back up at Harry with a smile. "I'm sure she'd love to be your plus-one, Harry. But, of course, Ron, Ginny, and I are still here for you as needed." She says that last part with a teasing tone, though he knows the offer's genuine, because he'll never be short of reliable friends.

That said, Hermione and Susan have quite the busy day that Friday, and the witches have a working lunch at their desks, leaving Harry to his own devices and wandering back to Arthur's office for company, which delights the Weasley patriarch.

It's not until after Sunday lunch with the usual gang that Harry brings up the Ministry's upcoming event. He and Susan have taken to walking around Muggle London every time after lunch on Sundays, and today's no different. They're eyeing a ride up in the London Eye since Susan told him last week that she's never been up in a Ferris wheel, and Harry leans Susan's way. "So, the posters about next month's little ceremony…"

Susan grins and tilts her head back, amusement lighting up her blue eyes at the poor segue. "Hermione insists it's supposed to be something small, nothing too grand. Like a cocktail get-together." She rests her head on his shoulder. "Still scared you'll have to speak?"

Same as last time, that hadn't occurred to him. "Well, no," he says truthfully. He wonders if there's a way to ask her to go with him, though, that won't make it seem as though she'll be his buffer; he still tries to be conscious of that these days.

"Harry, go with me, then?"

It takes him a minute to realize Susan beat him to the punch. He stares down at her, since she hasn't moved from his shoulder. He gapes a bit but quickly closes his mouth. He's so thankful to his brain when all he gets out is, "Yeah."

Susan beams. The sun is getting low in the sky, and it casts a golden glow over her face. The glow, her smile—it's tempting to kiss.

Harry doesn't, and they don't ride the London Eye that day, but there's an air of expectation between them when they part that day, and suddenly Harry finds himself looking forward to the Ministry function.

For a post-war world, things definitely are looking up.

He arrives at her Chelmsford home half an hour early as settled on and knocks. Harry tugs at the collar of his dress robes, but he's thankful they're not the extremely formal set the Yule Ball required years ago or that he needed for Bill and Fleur's wedding last year. Hermione swore up and down that tonight's event is something nice but lighter, like one of Slughorn's infamous parties.

The comparison isn't comforting, but it does warn Harry of what's to come when they arrive at the Ministry.

…that is, if they go at all. He frowns and furrows his brow, knocking again on the dark wood door to the Bones home. He takes a step back, too, and checks the number. Yes, Number Ten, and Harry spies lights on up on the second floor through a curtained window. Strange.

Harry continues to wait. A couple minutes later, there's a clamor on the other side of the door, and he wonders if perhaps Susan's parents will answer. The mere idea sets his spine straight, because he hasn't the foggiest how he'll look in front of them or what to say—

Susan gets the door, cracking it open a sliver. Somewhere far behind her, down the dark hall, is a light, so she's faintly silhouetted. "Oh. Hello, Harry."

"Susan. Is everything all right?" It's not just her monotone that concerns him. He glances past her head…or tries. He and Susan are around the same height, so he can't see beyond her.

She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Um, could we step outside and talk, Harry?"

"Of course."

He makes space for her, backing off the stoop, and Susan darts out of her house, yanking the door shut behind her. The door slams shut quite noisily. And, as before, another clamor occurs inside the house. Susan winces.

Harry looks between the door and Susan. "Did something fall?" That's when he realizes Susan's still in her clothes from earlier today when they met the others for lunch. If she's comfortable, then that's well, but he and Susan parted directly after lunch specifically because she and Hannah meant to go shopping. He wonders if this and that are connected.

Susan tugs on the hem of her button-up top and eyes the ground. "It's—It's just stuff, Harry. Can we sit?" she says, rushing her words and dropping to the stoop before he agrees.

"You understand I'm happy to sit with you but only worry more the longer we linger here," he says, sitting beside her and observing her profile. His stomach drops, seeing normally happy Susan so stony-faced.

"I don't want you to worry, Harry. I—I quite like spending time with you." The street light a stone's throw from the door shows a healthy flush across her cheeks. "But, in trying to get ready for tonight, I just…" Her voice catches. She rests an elbow on her knees and holds her head in her hand. "It's a mess, Harry. I'm a mess."

He shakes his head. "I don't understand."

Susan squeezes her eyes shut. Her breath shudders through her, but she's not crying, not yet. "I couldn't find anything to wear when I was out with Hannah today. So I went looking through the house, to no avail. Looking through things, bumping into things… What you heard were boxes falling, Harry. I've been dealing with falling boxes, knocking boxes over, boxes, boxes, boxes—all day long!"

Harry's shoulders fall. "Boxes? Wha…?"

"From all the estates. I keep putting off looking in them—" Her voice catches again. Another shudder seizes her.

All Harry hears is "estates." His blood goes cold. In all the time they've spoken about their shared experiences, about their wins and their losses, Harry thought he knew. Edgar and his family had been lost in the first war. Amelia was taken in the second. But for Susan to be this rattled— "Susan, your family…"

Finally, she looks at him. Her damp eyes glitter. "I'm the last Bones, Harry."

It's the final piece of the puzzle; he now sees the entire picture. Why they have such a cozy kinship. Why Susan's been hesitating, discussing her future whilst stuck in her morbid present and past.

Susan sits here beside him with the weight of her family's legacy, essentially the weight of the world, on her lone (lonely) shoulders.

His heart breaks, seeing her like this, recalling similar odd, heavy feelings once he learned he was the last Potter. But memories of nights spent in front of the Mirror of Erised and others spent wishing for any place outside the Dursley home are strong reminders that he's at peace with his reality, that he's gotten to this calm point with his reality, as best as one can be with such news. It's a process, but one can get there. So Harry presses his arm against hers, lowers his volume out of respect for the dead, and returns the advice Susan once gave him. "You can mourn them without being tied to the Ministry, Susan. It's your choice how to spend this life."

Susan's bottom lip quivers, but she hears him out.

"If I get to enjoy a quiet life now, after Voldemort, then you can choose any life you want. It doesn't have to be a Ministry one, Sue. It can be any place, anywhere in the world." He flourishes with a gesture at her yard, though really it's just for demonstrative purposes. The glimpse he's had of Chelmsford, coming up her street, is quite nice; he wouldn't mind getting to know the lovely town a bit better. He musters an empathetic smile for her.

Susan stares out at the yard with him, taking it all in, dwelling on his words. She leans against his arm, too, almost as if she needs propping up.

Harry watches her carefully. He could care less about Ministry cocktail parties right now. He's more worried Susan might sit out here all night if he budges.

"With anyone?"

He blinks as Susan turns back to him. "Sorry?"

"Any place. Anywhere in the world." Her eyes, even in the terrible yellow of the streetlight, are still a deep, startling blue. "With anyone?" Susan repeats.

Harry doesn't want to jeopardize her chances nor his…but he acknowledges, too, that he's lost a lot of good in his life, and so has Susan. So he lowers his head, peering up into her eyes, their faces close. "Anyone you choose," Harry clarifies.

It's the answer Susan wants. She wraps her arms around Harry's neck and kisses him. The kiss is salty from her tears, but Susan laughs into it, at the absurdity of things—their disastrous night, their morbid connection, their rough kiss. But, when she pulls her lips away from Harry's, she's smiling.

And Harry's stomach and heart swoop.

"…you know, if I take a vacation from the office, I bet Minister Shacklebolt will miss the boost you give to his ratings," she quips, in one breath both implying Harry will be by her side and that she's surmised Kingsley's plan this whole time. How shrewd of her. Harry knows he likes Susan for more than just her sweet and politely blunt sides.

He rubs his thumb over her cheekbone to wipe away some tears, smiling with her, their noses bumping. "Perhaps," he admits. "Although, Sue, if you take a break from the office, Hermione will go nutters having to do everything herself."

Susan raises her eyebrows. "True…" She smiles against his lips. "I suppose we could wait until our friends are happily ensconced in their eighth year then?"

"Sounds like a plan." He kisses her again.

Susan sighs happily. But then she squeezes his neck and peers at her front door with a frown. "Is it bad that I'd happily go into work right now when the thought of those boxes scares me like a boggart?"

Harry shakes his head and pulls Susan to standing with him. He loosens his tie and keeps hold of her hand. "Not at all. No one says you have to deal with the boxes tonight, tomorrow, this year or the next. But, when you're ready, Sue, you won't be alone."

At last, Susan brightens. She squeezes Harry's hand and, together, they go inside.

HOLY HELGA, IT'S DONE! D8 As a pal of mine knows, this story idea popped out of nowhere one week in…March?? And quickly spiraled into a big beast of a thing that refused to end, simply bc there was so much story that wanted to be told. The original inspo for this was "What if Harry didn't automatically jump into the Auror Office?" bc, given his life, diving right into more action seems like hell, imo, *lol*. So throw in some strong Harmony friendship, a good dose of Kingsley (bc I'm biased -w-), some Hufflepuff banter and drama bc I love my badgers, and I finally had a nice concept to write a proper story for one of my lowkey OTPs. Sincerely, it always struck me as odd that, given their similar histories, Harry and Susan never had a shot in canon. Thank Merlin for fanon, tho! :'D I included the Weasley stuff I did bc I do like the Weasleys (love Ginny :3c) and it felt impt to show on-screen that Hinny were broken up, too. But I liked the slow-build of HarrySusan and how Sue had one final hurdle to overcome, sharing the totality of her loss with him. Deffo smthg they can share together, and I like to imagine them spending some days going thru the boxes, perhaps at times with Justin and Hannah to help, just. Healing together is so impt! It is, as the title says, one of those things that come next. ;)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

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